Do You Still Have It?
by Maxiay
Summary: America opens his closet to find something...rather interesting. Who put it there, and What is it? Does America do anything and what does it have to do Russia?


You don't really have to read the beginning author's note.

really, I'm just gonna rant, because I don't like to have it start right away! So yea...no the problem is what do I start with? Oh! did you know that in Fanfiction, for the rules, it doesn't say that you need to have a disclaimer? Though if it does, could you show me where-not because i don't believe you or anything, I just wanna do the whole 'seeing is believing' type deal...

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"Alright, though I do love my horror, this is something completely new to me." A golden-haired teen addressed the coat rack in his closet.

He looked only 19, with lightly sun-kissed skin, with an a little ahoge (idiot hair) at his part. He stood 5' 10".

Blue as the sky, eyes that roamed the object that sat in his closet with an unreadable expression. The object was milky white, propped against the back wall and giving the teen a humorous laugh that could not be heard. It was thin and made of several parts, all seemingly connected. How? No one could tell, lest of all, the boy who it had greeted.

"Either Mattie has finally snapped, or Iggy decided to scare me- although it's way too early for Halloween," And outside of the teen's home he presided in, could attest to that. The air was warm-not chilly like the beginnings of fall, where the holiday was at in the seasons; the trees green and full, not hibernating and shedding its leaves as autumn, always does. This season is not autumn, but it's predecessor: Summer. "This isn't funny." The blonde murmured. Looking at the object with an almost, now, disdain look.

A high-pitched giggle for this man resounded behind the teen. "America," The now addressed teen turned to look behind him, seeing a man with platinum-blonde hair and eerily violet eyes. Dressed in a long, beige overcoat, with a medal pinned to his front, as well as a few shades lighter beige scarf that engulfed the man's neck. America, was only wearing a white dress shirt slightly undone, with tan dress pants.

"Russia," groaned America, a silent accusation in the word, though it was not unjustified, this man was known for his . . . . . cruel acts, and besides, the amusement had flashed through his eyes.

America looked back at the object now with pity laced in his sky-blue eyes. Russia hummed nonchalantly and preceded to wrap his arms around the two-inches-shorter's waist, and placed his chin on the other's shoulder.

"Lithuania cried so wonderfully. It's a pity, really, that I kept going." Russia said almost remorsefully, closing his eyes, as if to savor it. But his want to see America blanche before him, amusement strong in his violet eyes behind closed lids, were shown. If the blonde in his embrace could see his face -his eyes- he'd see it, as clear as day.

But America knew.

He knew anyway, what Russia's intentions were. After all, being with the man's true self for 20 years- no more than that; had shown him the man that everyone thought was insane, but was actually playful-albeit sadistically. And although many did not know, except a few that could see past the façade of the self-proclaimed 'Hero', that he is a lot like Russia,- except the part that loved to show his sadistic side often. Most of it was reaction. That's what they wanted, reaction, positive or negative, for it confirmed their existence.

America rolled his eyes. "Okay, who is it really?"

Russia snapped his eyes opened looking at the skeleton now, studying it with a frown.-From his game being cut short or actually pondering whom it could be, could be the reason. Though more than likely, it was probably both. "I don't know." He answered.

America sighed. He really didn't want to find out about the skeleton in his closet. Researching about the poor sap that somehow got stuck in his closet would give it a name, a story, and he would think of it as a _person_. Not a horrific Halloween decoration that was probably supposed to be a practical joke.

So with Russia, who had kindly removed himself from his person to go to the kitchen. He shut the door to rid himself of this problem and therefore making the idiom come somewhat true.

Some 46 years later. . . . .

Half-drunk or fully drunk, or possibly like France- Nations loitered around a bar fully intent to drink more than they have had so far.

Russia and America, coincidentally, sat next to each other as drinking buddies. Russia smirked, somewhat and said to America quite loudly,

"Do you still have that skeleton in your closet?"

Oh, was the next World Meeting going to be Hell.

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Mwahahahahaha! I love prompts. This is actually where I got it from, too. I think...I googled it...

So drop a line! If you want to criticize anything, point out any grammer mistakes, something I used incorrectly, you wanna rant or rave, flame me, or tell me something random, go ahead!


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